


Promises

by Smaragaide



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smaragaide/pseuds/Smaragaide
Summary: I wrote this two years ago during Season 6, maybe when I still held out hope that the show wasn't going to completely crash and burn from shitty writing.





	1. Chapter 1

_No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone._

Sansa wandered through the encampment. Glancing about, she knew they did not have enough men to combat Ramsay and his forces the next morning. It was fruitless. A slaughter that she could not prevent. She had written Petyr asking for his aid, the aid he promised, the aid he said was waiting at Moat Cailin. She didn’t know how to tell Jon that he should wait, that an army could be on the way.

_Could_… that was the keyword. What if she told Jon about the Vale troops and then they didn’t arrive? He was so stubborn to move quickly with the meager forces they had left - for Rickon’s sake. Her younger brother was the reason she used to get Jon to mobilize in the first place, but as time went on, that hope quickly died. Jon didn’t know Ramsay and what he was capable of. No matter how she loved her brother, she knew in her heart he was dead one way or another. Ramsay would never let him live. He would use him to bait Jon, and it seemed to be working considering her argument with Jon tonight.

Could she see the horror and disappointment in his eyes at knowing the army she hoped for did not come in their moment of need? Why didn’t she tell Jon about Petyr and the Vale? She never told him she met with him in Mole’s Town or that they were camped at Moat Cailin. Sansa knew she didn’t want to be indebted to him. She thought she didn’t need him. That they could take Winterfell back on their own. Her own pride got in the way of the overall scheme of things. She couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Petyr might not come and that knowledge was killing her. She didn’t lie tonight. She would never go back to Ramsay alive. She would take her own life if necessary.

_You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well._

The truth was, that Ramsay was going to win the battle tomorrow and she and Jon would be dead. The only way to win is if Petyr would keep his promise. Sansa had told him to leave and that she never wanted to see him again.

She was angry and rightly so, but in hindsight, Sansa cursed herself for not being prudent. He had an army. She could have said so many different things that day and let her hatred burn on the inside until her home was given back to her. Petyr, even though she did not want to admit it, looked shocked and dare she say it, remorseful? He didn’t deny his ignorance of Ramsay and apologized deeply for the mistake. A mistake she had to bear will full force. She couldn’t erase the sorrow on his face.

_He beat you._

_Did he cut you?_

What unnerved Sansa was that he didn’t plead or beg as she thought he would. There were no last-minute declarations of love or pleas for his life. Only the empty promise of protection. Petyr stood

there silently and let her vent her anger and death threats.

_Then I will die…_

Sansa did not want to think about that admission and what it meant. If she had ordered Brienne to strike him down that day, the army would have returned to the Vale. They had no loyalty to the Starks anymore or her… the last surviving daughter and wife to a Bolton. Robin wouldn’t care. He was manipulated completely by Petyr. Without him, why would the Vale come this far North? What would they have to gain? Sansa would have had no one else to write to for help. There was no word from Brienne or her uncle The Blackfish. All she had… was a mockingbird, that for all she knew, had flown far away leaving her to her own doom.

The next morning, she kissed Jon sweetly trying not to let him see her fear and sadness. He told her to remain at the camp and he didn’t need to tell her what to do if he fell today. The real possibility of defeat was in their hearts but neither of them said a word. Sansa watched him ride away with Davos and the pitiful army marching to its own demise.

There was no need for her on the battlefield, Jon told her, trying to put her at ease. It was as if he wanted to tell her to run away while she still could. Lyanna Mormont had a sour look on her face as her advisors whispered in her ear. The red woman was near her tent and never said a word. Whatever her Lord of Light might have told her in the flames, she kept to herself.

It wasn’t long after Jon left, that Mormont’s maester came to her with a tiny scroll, marked with a mockingbird seal. Sansa held her breath and wasn’t sure she wanted to read it. She feared that Petyr had either moved too far south to be of any use or that he had taken her words to heart from that day. Her letter stated she would reward him for his help but Sansa wasn’t sure if he was still interested. He offered his help and army that day. In fact, he had come all this way for her and she threw it back in his face. She refused his offer that would have made them equal. His aid in payment for what he did to her with Ramsay. Sansa did not want it.

Now, she was practically begging for his help. This time, it wasn’t a truce being forged between them. He could fulfill his promise to protect her as he said. But he wasn’t offering his protection now. It was she that was coming to him, and they both knew she had no one else to go to. What would he expect in return? Would he come to her out of goodwill?

Unrolling the weathered parchment, Sansa let out a breath she was holding. He was coming. Petyr was coming to her with a full army. They would be at Winterfell by midday. Sansa closed her eyes. It would be too late. Surely by then, Ramsay would have defeated Jon. The only thing she could hope for is that the Vale would tear through Bolton’s remaining forces and still take back Winterfell. She could still win this battle but her brothers would be sacrificed for it.

Only if Jon had waited. Only if she had been truthful with him. By the time she rode out to Winterfell, the battle would be in full force. Petyr was coming from the south by Kings Road. If she met up with him, perhaps they could make it in time. If not, Ramsay would be licking his wounds and never suspect their charge. Taking her horse, she decided to ride south. Her only hope would be to get to Petyr in time. They wouldn’t know of a battle today and have a sense of urgency to get here.

Looking behind her, she prayed to the old Gods to be merciful and delay the inevitable. Even if she died today, she would make sure she took Ramsay down with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa rode south, alone, and hoped she did not encounter any of Ramsay’s scouts. It would be more obvious if she took several men with her for protection. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to matter. If Petyr couldn’t close the distance and hit Ramsay’s forces hard, there were be no one left to rescue.

Cresting a hill, she sighed at shades of blue and white whipping in the breeze. The banners of the Vale were high and Sansa realized that it wasn’t just a small legion of knights Petyr had brought with him, it was a good chunk of the Vale’s army at his command. How did he manage to convince Robin to send so many north? Surely, even the Lords Declarant wouldn’t have wished to send so many to aid her.

He must have known Stannis had been defeated and badly. He knew she escaped. Petyr wasn’t just taking a few knights to help her escape, Petyr was taking Winterfell one way or another from the Boltons.

_The North will be yours. Do you believe me?_

Sansa thought he meant a conquering Stannis would make her Wardeness and give her back her family’s lands and titles. She wondered if Petyr had a plan to get rid of Ramsay and Roose all along if Stannis lost. Petyr had a contingency plan for his contingency plans. Did he know the other northern houses would deny their support to the Stark bastard and lone daughter? He knew about her great-uncle, the Blackfish… what else did Petyr already know before coming north? Sansa had so many questions for her former protector.

“Sansa!” his worried voice exclaimed.

Petyr galloped towards her with two knights trailing behind. She met him as the army followed to catch up.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she gasped and didn’t know where to start. “We need to move quickly – the battle has already begun. I fear a great loss. Please…” she pleaded out of breath.

“Where?” Petyr asked.

“The north end of Winterfell, a large field sloping down. He’ll never suspect an attack from the south. Unless his scouts see us coming,” Sansa advised.

Petyr ordered two captains to take knights and flank the castle, taking out any scouts along the way. The remainder of the army would push on from the south and surprise them from behind.

“Do not leave my side,” Petyr commanded her and didn’t waste any more time. His commander led

the charge as both of them galloped north with a handful of knights for protection.

Sansa could see Winterfell and her heart was in her throat. How many men were already dead? Was Jon still alive? She prayed that Ramsay didn’t take her brother captive. She saw how her dreadful husband slaughtered Stannis’ army before her eyes. She knew Ramsay was a skilled commander and that Jon had woefully underestimated the Bolton bastard.

She couldn’t imagine that Rickon was still alive and didn’t want to have her hopes dashed. No, he was dead. That she knew for sure. Ramsay would have used Rickon to bait Jon before the battle. She tried to tell Jon. Ramsay liked to play games with people. He knew how to set them off. All she could do was hope Jon did not fall into Ramsay’s clutches. She wouldn’t be able to save him. The best she could hope for was a quick death and then ultimately she would be alone in the world. No more Starks – not even a half-brother to call upon for love, advice and support. She would be the last of her name.

Petyr and Sansa crested the southern hill and saw the carnage below. Ramsay had all but won the day as the remains of Jon’s forces were being slaughtered. Petyr gave the signal and the horns sounded their arrival. Sansa could see in the distance Ramsay and his captains' shock and confusion as the Vale army crested the hill and rode down upon their soldiers. Ramsay’s calvary already spent, all that was left where his archers and foot soldiers. The knights ran them down like grass in a field, effectively obliterating Ramsay’s boasted six-thousand men. The remaining knights had flanked the castle and joined the battle that was seemingly over in a matter of minutes.

Sansa glanced at Petyr’s smirk and couldn’t help but smile herself at the grand victory. All thoughts of Jon were muted for a moment at the idea that she defeated Ramsay. She – _a woman_ – a girl that no one ever thought would amount to anything. That feeling was short-lived when she could see a man hauling himself from the mountain of the dead and dying. Ramsay had fled back to Winterfell, in hopes to force a siege, but Jon’s giant was quite the advantage.

“Sansa, we must get to Winterfell. We cannot allow Ramsay to hold a siege. We do not have the resources to hold out the winter,” Petyr read her mind.

By the time they reached the gates, the giant had already burst through and Ramsay’s men were picked off one by one as others fled into the wilderness. Sansa practically leapt off her horse as she could hear Petyr’s panicked voice in the distance. She stood in shock as she witnessed Jon pummeling Ramsay into the dirty. Her foul, and soon to be dead husband was bloodied and almost unrecognizable. Jon caught her eye and halted his assault on the man. The way Ramsay lay there, Sansa wondered if he was dead already. A turn of his bloody head told her the truth. He was alive.

Jon and his men dragged him away as Petyr came to stand at her side. He didn’t touch her and try to comfort her in any way. Only a simple statement that was long overdue.

“Winterfell and the North are yours, my lady,” he proclaimed softly.

Sansa could only nod in acknowledgement. She was speechless. It was done. Winterfell was, once again, under Stark rule. She was home, truly, for the first time. As of now, she, Sansa Stark, was the new Lady of Winterfell. She winced for a second. She was by law, a Bolton now. Lyanna Mormont was right in a way. It didn’t matter if she was a Stark before, or if Ramsay was dead by nightfall. She married him and was still a Bolton by a marriage contract.

“How do I get rid of it?” she wondered aloud.

“My lady?” Petyr questioned.

“The Bolton name,” she supplied morosely. “How do I get rid of it?”

Petyr was quiet for a time, seemingly in deep thought.

“Unfortunately, the marriage was consummated. By the grace of the gods, you are not with his child,” he murmured to himself. “Marriage would be the easiest option. To return your Stark name, I would have to speak to the maester. Usually, it would be a king’s decree to revert you to your maiden’s name. Very unlikely that Tommen would grant such a request to a fugitive. He will likely be dead or dethroned soon as it is.”

“I am on good terms with Margery…”

“Queen Margery is imprisoned by the Faith Militant. Cersei armed them in order to seize more control and it has drastically backfired. My stay in Kings Landing was expedited. It is not the same capital city we left, Sansa. The zealots have taken control. Cersei, Margery and Loras are awaiting trial by the Faith. Tommen has completely cowered to this man called the High Sparrow. Whatever power the Tyrells had possessed, is gone and the Lannisters are in a state of complete chaos,” he advised gently.

The direwolf banner rolled down from the turrets and swayed softly. All the sigils of the Boltons were being discarded one by one and Sansa felt it wasn’t fast enough. Walking briskly past Petyr, she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Find a way.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting under the heart tree, Sansa couldn’t ease her mind. She came to the Godswood to find peace and quiet and yet so many troubling thoughts refused to let her be. Ramsay was dead and she had Winterfell back and yet it didn’t make her feel much better. Their troubles were only beginning. How would she and Jon hold the North? Their army decimated and surely new enemies would present themselves. They might have beaten Ramsay and reclaimed their home but it wouldn’t go unnoticed the price they paid. If Petyr hadn’t come…

“I wondered if you might be here,” a gentle voice, she knew so well, spoke softly.

Sansa didn’t have to look to know who it was walking towards her. His soft dulcet tones couldn’t be mistaken anywhere. Sansa could only remember one time Petyr raised his voice and it was when Lysa was about to throw her through the moon door. The fierce anger on his face – she would never forget it. Sansa had never seen Petyr with such a fury about him. He killed Joffrey for her. Sansa had once thought it was done because of her mother’s death but after Lysa – she knew it was for her. Now, Ramsay was dead. Not by Petyr’s hand, but her own. He gave her to that monster only to try and save her in the end.

“Am I intruding, sweetling?” the approaching voice asked.

_Don’t call me that_, she wanted to say but held her tongue. Petyr did save them as he had promised to do. Without him, Ramsay would have won and both she and Jon would be dead now. Because of Petyr, she was able to reap her revenge on Ramsay. However, she couldn’t forget it was Petyr that gave her to him in the first place.

“If you were coming to my aid with the knights of the Vale to take Winterfell, why did you marry me to him? Why not just march on them instead? You knew Stannis was headed here,” she inquired and still refused to look at him.

She heard Petyr sigh deeply as he leaned against the tree in contemplation.

“Had we moved on Winterfell –“

_We?_

“ – without provocation, it would have raised many suspicious eyes to us. Not just in the North but in the South as well. Not only that, it would have prepared the Boltons for a siege that we couldn’t afford to attempt in a summer snow let alone a true and hard winter. The Vale lords never would have allowed me to take an army north just to give you back your birthright, especially with Stannis planning on taking it. It would have been deemed an unnecessary risk,” he explained.

“Yet you took me as far as Moat Cailin before even telling me what the plan was,” she interrupted. “Why? Why not include me in such a plan?”

“You’re right, Sansa,” he breathed. “I should have told you. I thought by bringing you thus far, it would encourage you. I knew you would refuse had I revealed my plan at the Eyrie. You refused even then on that hillside if you recall. My intentions were to give you back your home – the best way I knew how. Giving you in marriage would have put Roose’s guard down to a perceived alliance with me and the Vale since he no longer had Tywin Lannister’s support. Roose wouldn’t have been foolish enough to harm you. He needed you to hold the north. The way I saw it, Stannis had the larger force and you would be free of the Boltons. Had he failed, I would bring the Vale north under the guise of support and take Winterfell and you back. Either way, I had never intended to leave you with them.”

“Had Cersei not summoned you to return,” she said sarcastically, “What would you have done? Would have come to my rescue, like a good knight, and saved me when you heard my screams?”

“I would have never allowed anyone to harm you – “

“Ramsay would have killed you in front of me, you know. He would have cut your throat, or flayed you, and continue raping me,” Sansa huffed. “That’s the kind of man you left me with.”

“Sansa, I know you can never forgive me. I should have known more about him before I made the bargain. Believe me when I say it was only to get you home and make you the head of your house again. I promised to bring you home. The Boltons knew Stannis was coming and prepared. They would have done the same if they knew we were coming from the Vale,” Petyr explained sadly, “I would have died before letting him hurt you. I never would have left you there had I known. I would have found another way. The images of what he had done to you – haunt me.”

“What he did to me – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. I can’t forget that you gave me to him,” she sighed. “Remember, I could have had killed you that day in Mole’s Town.”

“Why did you let me live that day?” he asked sincerely.

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it much these past few weeks. If you were dead, I wouldn’t be here either. I would have died before going back to him. But – I did agree on that hillside at Moat Cailin. I’m angry that you didn’t consult me beforehand, however, you were right. I would have refused to leave the Vale. I was being a bystander. I wanted my home back and vengeance but had no idea how to do it. Now, my family’s enemies are dead – almost all of them.”

“Sansa – “

“I’m not forgiving you, you understand. I am grateful for your aid in defeating Ramsay and those traitorous houses that sided with him,” she spoke over him. “You did as you promised. Once Winterfell is prosperous again, I will reward you as I promised. I can negotiate with Robin as we are cousins.”

“When I returned to the Eyrie, Robin and the Vale lords did not care about you. Robin never would have sent his soldiers had I not pressured him to do so. Do you think he would honestly help you now if it weren’t for my council? As far as they are concerned, the north is dead. They will learn soon enough that you do not have control of the north nor an army to protect you. How long until they recall their forces back to the Vale? You have nothing they need, Sansa. They wouldn't even back Robb when he had all the North behind him.”

“When my great uncle hears I have the north back, surely, he – “

“The Blackfish is dead,” he supplied simply.

Shocked, Sansa turned her head sharply. Petyr was still leaning against the trunk and didn’t look her way.

“What?” she breathed. “No. I sent Brienne to meet with him. Surely, she would have sent a scroll by now – “

“Edmure betrayed him. The Lannisters and the Freys now control Riverrun and the Riverlands,” he said coolly. “I received word from my spies there when camped at Moat Cailin. I would have told you sooner, but you refused to see me for days, hence why I came looking for you this morning.”

“Uncle Edmure wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Why would he side with them? I don’t believe it,” Sansa stood and started to pace.

“I grew up with your mother’s family, Sansa. I fear I may know your uncle better than you realize,” he began. “Edmure was and always has been a coward. Lysa never loved nor supported your mother when she begged for help from the Vale to support Robb’s cause. I think Edmure only did out of fear of losing Riverrun when the Blackfish stood by her. When he disappeared, the murder of your brother and Cat, Edmure wilted like a flower. You had more courage and backbone when facing down Joffrey than he ever had.”

In one moment, it was all slipping away. If what Petyr said was true, then her last true ally was gone. Only if she knew for sure. If Brienne had not sent word, then she could be dead. The Freys and Lannisters would not let her live if they knew she was sworn to Sansa, a fugitive, as Petyr put it. Again, he was right. Because of Joffrey, she was still seen as a conspirator to his murder. Cersei would never allow her to regain her lands and title formally. When they found out, would they send an army to take it back? She remembered her father. He said that never, had any southern house sent an army this far north. If the Lannisters had Riverrun and the Freys as an ally…

It was all so hopeless. She and Jon didn’t have the forces to keep the north, let alone move south and defend it from an allied army. If the Tyrell’s were still in league, then they could be starved out without a single battle. Depending on how long this winter lasted, Winterfell and the northern houses wouldn’t have enough if the south pushed an embargo.

Theon was a shell of the man he once was. He would never be able to convince the Ironborn to support the north after what happened. He didn’t kill Rickon and perhaps Bran was still out there somewhere – hiding. If Bran was alive, he was the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He was crippled and Sansa couldn’t fathom how long he would survive if he wasn’t dead already. Jon was a bastard and couldn’t be lord without being legitimized by the king, an act that would never happen. No, it was up to her now and her alone.

“We used to play in the Godswood at Riverrun,” he interrupted her thoughts. “The river wound its way there,” he pointed. “ – and the trees were so thick, you could jump from one to another and never touch the ground.”

Sansa stopped and stared at him in silence. Petyr had a faraway look in his eyes but his smile was filled with sadness.

“Cat was so beautiful. Her auburn hair burned like fire in the sunlight. She would sing songs and read to me,” he smiled. “When I fostered there as a child, I had very little education. Cat took it upon herself to teach me. After a while, Hoster allowed me to be taught along with his children – as if one of his own. Edmure was a cruel child. He hated my very existence. That someone so low born was allowed to be treated as an equal. Your mother was my world and I was very much in love. I was such a naïve boy.”

Sansa didn’t know why Petyr was telling her this. It was one of the very few times he was open with her about himself. Sometimes, she could catch a glimpse of the boy he used to be and wondered what made him the man that stood before her now.

“You and I are more alike than you know, Sansa,” he smirked. “Once we both believed in love, flowers, songs and that love conquered all. Reality is a harsh lesson learned. The Lannisters taught you that. The Tully’s taught me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, I’m sorry sweetling. I forget that I’m of such little importance that your mother would have never told you about me. I gather you believed yourself in love with Joffrey once. I was the same. I loved your mother very much. I thought her teasing and little kisses meant she felt the same way for me. When Lord Tully declared that Cat would marry Brandon Stark, I was heartbroken. I was younger than your mother and so foolish. I challenged your uncle to a duel for Cat’s hand. I, a boy from nothing and nowhere, with no skills with a sword thought I could best a man twice my years and a seasoned fighter. Like you, I read all the stories. The small boy beats the giant, doesn’t he?”

Sansa was entranced and nodded slightly.

“There was my ultimate folly. That reality came crashing down when he stuck me, blow after blow. Never once did I yield even when I bled through that heavy chainmail. I remember slipping down into the bank of the river when Brandon hit me so hard, I thought my arm would break. I was done, exhausted and heard Cat plead him to spare my life. That I was just a foolish boy. She was right. She refused my favour, but she stopped him from cutting me down. Perhaps, she should have let him kill me that day. Instead, Brandon left me forever with a reminder of who I was and would always be in their eyes. Nothing. When his sword sliced through me, even then, I still couldn’t believe it. He left me there, to die on the banks of the river. For many years, I thought it was Cat that nursed me before Hoster Tully, for overstepping my bounds, decided to send me back to the Fingers. It was a lie I told myself for many years. In my mind, had I been a higher lord, from a more respectable family – could I have won her? Would I have been allowed to ask for her hand? Would I have been a different man now if the rejection was purely based on my birth?”

Petyr strolled a bit but didn’t confront her.

“That was a lie too. Your mother loved your father very much. Brandon’s death, as much as I was thrilled to hear the news, gave Cat what she really wanted. Love and a family. Something I desperately craved and that bitter pill was hard to swallow. I envied her happiness. Before she died, when I brought your father’s body to her, the grief and devastation struck me cold. This woman I had loved my entire life, was a fantasy I built in my mind. Everything happened just as it should have. Without Ned, she wouldn’t have had you. Without you, the Stark’s would be dead and gone. Without you, I would have never – “

Sansa was hooked on every word and when he stopped, she was caught up in anticipation.

“That betrayal, her death... I was incensed with vengeance. Joffrey was going to die. I had already planned for that. But he was going to pay for what he did to Cat. He was going to die horribly and in pain. Cersei was going to feel that loss of someone she loved. She is now reaping what she sowed. If the Gods are kind, she will either self-destruct and take the Lannisters and Kings Landing down with her or the Faith with seal her fate. Now, the Freys are long overdue for their punishment.”

Sansa was not entirely surprised but to hear him speak with such passion was unnerving. She wanted the same thing. She wanted Cersei to suffer. She wanted the Freys dead for their betrayal.

“What do you want?” she finally asked, not sure anymore to what his answer would be.

Petyr turned his head slightly, and his eyes looked tearful. She had never seen emotion from him before and it was unsettling. Petyr was cold and calculated. She half expected him to come here and demand his reward but instead, he revealed much of himself and his desires.

“I thought you knew what I wanted,” he smirked slightly. His attempt at sarcastic humour being halfhearted.

“I thought I knew a lot of things,” she whispered. “I thought I could be like you. I’m not.”

“A woman that feeds her husband to a pack of dogs is not a woman to be trifled with,” Petyr half-smiled.

“Nor is a man that shoves his wife through a moon door to protect a girl he barely knows." Sansa thought back to that moment in Lysa's throne room, adding, “She would have killed me if you hadn’t come.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I’ve made mistakes and I regret things I have done. Mainly because of you. All I’ve done to protect you has only caused you pain. A pain you should have never had to bear. Had I not kissed you that day, Lysa would not have tried to kill you. If I had known more or not left you alone with Ramsay… I can’t change the past but I can offer a future.”

Sansa knew what he was going to ask. She knew it when she wrote to him. She had nothing to offer him but herself but now the time had come, she didn’t know what to do. She did not want another husband, a man to rule over her. She knew Petyr wanted her. Whether it was because she reminded him of her mother – it didn’t really matter. She thought she could use that against him, but when he married her off to Ramsay – she didn’t know what to think after that. Maybe he didn’t want her after all. What man sends the woman he loves to marry another man?

“I would never hurt you. Raise a hand to you. _Not ever_. I will protect you, I promise – I swear on my blood. I will never let anyone harm you ever again. I’ll die before I let that happen. I will take vengeance on your enemies. We can take back Riverrun and destroy them all. I will give you the Iron Throne if you desire it,” Petyr said with reverence.

Petyr didn’t plead or beg for her hand. He was simply asking her to trust him again, accept him after all that had happened. He wanted another chance.

“So, you would force me to marry you?” she asked skeptically. “Is that the price for your army?”

“We both know I cannot force you to do anything,” he replied solemnly.

“But yet all my other options are dead,” Sansa said. “I don’t want to marry Robin. You’ve left me nothing but you.”

There it was. Something she never expected. _Hurt_. His eyes couldn’t hide it.

“If you cared so much for me, why did you let them marry me to Tyrion? Why did you send me to the Boltons? Why – “

“I asked Cersei for your hand long before they decided to give you to Tyrion,” Petyr spoke plainly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Petyr wanted to marry her that long ago? That explained him wanting to spirit her away before she was wed to Tyrion. Petyr wanted to marry her before everything else happened. Before the Eyrie, before taking Winterfell. She would have never been given to the Boltons. He would have had to find another way to take Winterfell if she had been his wife. Was Petyr really doing this for her or just another game?

“You may have been a traitor’s daughter and unfit for the king, but I was still not good enough for you. Even with Harrenhal and new titles, I was still too low born to ask for you. I would have taken you away, Sansa, if you wished it of me. I saw how your eyes lit up with the romantic promise of handsome Loras Tyrell. You wouldn’t have believed me if I told you he preferred the company of men in his bed. Margery had filled you with hopes of High Garden. I couldn’t compete with that. It was after I left Kings Landing, that I learned you had been wed to Tyrion. I knew what kind of man he was. He frequented my brothels endlessly. Your own handmaiden was his loyal whore. It was never going to end well for you there. Cersei needed your name and house under control. Joffrey had to die and you needed to reclaim your birthright. Cersei would have found a way to punish you for Joffrey’s death even if not implicated. Your marriage to Tyrion alone would have been enough for her. Cersei doesn’t need fairness or the rules of law. You would have died there. Even if you married Loras, the Tyrells would have used you to take power in the north. You were nothing but a pawn to all of them.”

It was true. She would have refused him then. Loras was beautiful and everything she ever dreamed of. Margery gave her such hopes but they were all dashed. Margery wanted to be queen and Sansa was happy to give it to her. She didn’t know about Loras though.

“Is that all I am to you? A pawn? If I marry you, you become the Lord of Winterfell. Warden of the North,” she frowned. “I will be nothing but a former Stark again. A wife with no powers of my own.”

“No power, Sansa? You will have all the power in Westeros with me by your side. I will give you the Vale, the RIverlands, Harrenhal… it will all be ours. Make Jon King of the North. The Wildlings will follow him, the north will see his strength and with you, the very powerful and wealthy Lady of Winterfell, you could have everything. The north will never follow me or love me. They will love you. I can feed them, shelter them, give them an army and reclaim everything that has been taken in your name.”

“Only if I marry you… _bed you_, is that it?”

“You are not a pawn, Sansa. Not to me. You are so much more to me. You would never have married me, or even considered me before. I could be insulted that you have nothing better now, considering the circumstances, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’ve always wanted you.”

“Because I remind you of my mother.”

“No. If I didn’t articulate that well that day in the courtyard, I apologize. Not only are you more beautiful, Sansa,” he breathed coming face to face with her. “You are more courageous, intelligent, loyal and fierce than I could have ever hoped for. You’ve taken my teachings to heart, whether you like to admit it or not. The girl from the tourney would never have been able to do what you have done recently. I cannot see that innocent girl feeding a man to hungry hounds.”

“I thought you didn’t want friends like you,” she gasped at how close he was. She could see the flecks of green in his grey eyes.

“I don’t. The woman before me – I would love to marry and make my equal in all things.”

Petyr was a breath away from her lips and she couldn’t move away if she tried. There was something in his eyes that was different now. A strange honesty she couldn’t wrap her mind around.

“Imagine what we could accomplish together, Sansa.”

His eyes roamed her face and halted at her lips making Sansa hold her breath.

“My wits and your beauty, the world could be ours. I could give you everything you dreamed of and more,” he whispered as the snow began to fall, feeling its coolness on her face.

“And if I don’t want a husband – _in that way_. What would you say then?” she began breathing heavy.

“I say, I will sleep elsewhere unless you’ve changed your mind. I would never force you, Sansa. That is a trust I would never break. You can feed me to direwolves if it pleases you.”

He was so close that Sansa could detect that every lingering mint on his breath. Where did he manage to find mint in the midst of winter?

“And if I never change my mind?” she echoed the words she uttered to Tyrion on their wedding night.

“Then all I ask is for one kiss,” he whispered against her rosy lips. “Just once – _a real kiss_.”

Petyr claimed her mouth gently, asking for permission. How long had it been since she berated him, threatened to have Brienne kill him? Why didn’t she kill him then? She could have. She was furious with him, cursed him, vowed she never wanted to see him again. Yet, here he was kissing her. It wasn’t like their first kiss that shocked her so. Not even when he kissed her in the crypts, a promise that he would return, that he would give her the north. Ultimately, Petyr did give her the north as he promised.

She took a breath and instantly he deepened his kiss making her gasp. Joffrey was boyish and Ramsay cruel. Petyr was tender and coaxed her like a lover. He tasted sweet and his moustache tickled slightly but his lips were soft. Sansa could almost forget, for a moment, who she was kissing and that she was supposed to be angry with him. It had been so long since she had received such affection. Jon hugged and kissed her, but it was brotherly love. Did Petyr really love her? Could she use that to control him?

Unconsciously, Sansa sighed into his lovely mouth, when Petyr’s arms wrapped around her. He was solid against her tiny frame. They were the same height and Petyr was much older, but he was clearly experienced. He knew how to kiss and it took her breath away. Just as she was beginning to enjoy it, Petyr pulled away and gazed in her eyes.

“I know I am asking much of you, but if you’ll let me love you, marry you – _you’ll never regret it._ I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you,” he said breathlessly. “I will take care of you. Honour you. Tell me what you want, and it is yours.”

Sansa searched his eyes. There was truth there. Petyr always said to mix truth with the lies. He was right, she was no longer that naïve girl he first met. She knew what he was, for better or for worse. Sansa knew in her gut that Petyr would not harm her. She knew he would not force her to share his bed. Sansa wasn’t sure why or how she knew it, but that was one thing she could trust in him. Perhaps, in time, once those wounds began to heal, she might use her womanly traits to keep him. Cersei said it wasn’t just tears, but what lay between a woman’s legs that could control men. Sansa certainly didn’t liken herself to Cersei, but it didn’t mean that statement wasn’t true. It was hard being a woman. Women had to use other powers to control their future and Sansa would use hers.

If she could bed Ramsay, bedding Petyr wouldn’t be difficult. If his kiss was gentle, she suspected the same would be in his bed. Yes, she would use that desire to her advantage.

“Yes,” she breathed and leaned up giving him a light kiss to seal the contract. “I will marry you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The ceremony had been kept secret. Petyr’s raised eyebrow at her request told Sansa he knew her too well. She didn’t want Jon to know. _Not yet._ This alliance was between her and Petyr. The decision was made after the northern lords arrived at Winterfell. That night, Jon was declared King of the North by all. She was happy for him. That’s what she told herself later that night, the day after and the day after that. At first, Sansa thought it was an obvious choice. How many would truly follow a woman in such turbulent times? A woman couldn’t lead an army in the middle of winter.

When Lyanna Mormont, the feisty young lady from Bear Island spoke and put every man in the room in their place, Sansa began to doubt. This little girl was a force that she and Jon underestimated when they asked for her pledge. It was Davos that saved the day, but in the end, it didn’t matter that much with only sixty men allotted to them to fight.

Sansa could see men following this girl when she came to womanhood. At such a tender age and years from flowering, this girl was fierce and to be reckoned with. Sansa remembered what she was like at that age. A spoiled little brat with nothing but dreams of princes, flowers and castles she built in the sky.

Petyr’s solemn words rang back to her. He was young and naïve once. He believed in the same faerie tales and when the true world came calling, it shattered him. Strange partners, they had become. Petyr had revealed himself to her and Sansa could identify with so much of what he went through. She was born to privilege and had the world set before her. Petyr could only hope and dream for the love of a girl. He didn’t want to overthrow kings and nor did he desire a throne, he just wanted to be accepted… loved. Had he been from a respectable family of name and wealth, her mother’s rejection might now have turned him into the man he was today.

If her father had not died, what kind of woman would she be even now? Would she be tortured every day by Joffrey? Would she have turned into Cersei bearing children and hating her chosen husband all because of a dream of becoming queen? Robert Baratheon wanted and was betrothed to her aunt Lyanna but had to marry a Lannister he didn’t love. Lyanna was kidnapped and raped by a Targaryen. Cersei married a man she didn’t love. Surely Margery didn’t love Joffrey but wanted to be queen and now she was paying the price.

Petyr said he loved her, had always wanted to marry her. That knowledge ate away at Sansa since

that morning in the Godswood. Could she believe that he truly didn’t know about Ramsay? He said he married her only to get her home back. He never meant to leave her there. He never would have allowed Ramsay to hurt her.

Sansa’s head ached at all these troubling thoughts. She paced Petyr’s modest house in Gulltown as she awaited his return. He was making arrangements to meet with Robin and the rest of the Vale lords to create a great alliance with the Lady of Winterfell. Petyr told her that they, traditional blue bloods of ancient families, would never back a bastard… even if he was half Stark. A Stark bastard was friendly to wildings.

When they pledged and cheered Jon as the new king, she was happy. He stood and spoke to the northern houses, even forgiving some of them for not supporting her and Jon in their hour of need. Not once, did Jon tell the men of how Sansa helped. Not one word about her warnings, acting with caution, and securing the Vale to save the day. Earlier that day, alone with Jon looking over the turrets, Jon spoke of how she was the reason they were alive and home. The Vale came because of her and her alone. Why did he not say it in front of the rest of the north? Was Sansa so petty that she wanted recognition of her role in their victory? After Lyanna Mormont spoke and rallied the men to Jon’s side, she was envious of the girl. They respected her, this tiny thing that wasn’t even half Sansa’s years. This girl didn’t suffer as Sansa had, worked as hard to get her home back. No one in that room endured what she had and still chose to fight her abuser and now dead husband.

Jon said nothing and accepted the accolades with a humble smile. Sansa was hurt but she didn’t want to ruin his moment. She tried to convince herself such jealousy was unwarranted. Jon was a good man and did not seek such power. He was not cruel but he was lacking in world experience to deal with the rest of Westeros.

Sansa learned so much in Kings Landing. She hated Cersei, but observed the woman and how she got what she wanted. Tyrion was kind to Sansa and he understood his family and politics. Almost as well as Petyr. All the people and houses Sansa met and dealt with until moving north was her education courtesy of one Petyr Baelish. Petyr never held back in his teachings. He wanted her to learn. He wanted her to think for herself and understand the world around her. He wanted to know her strong points and know how to use them. Even the worst, under the monstrous hand of Ramsay, Sansa learned… and remembered.

Sansa told Jon she would accompany Petyr to the Vale to gain support. When they arrived in White Harbor, Petyr made the arrangement under absolute secrecy. Sansa didn’t want to know what he said the septon, or what he threatened him with. For all Sansa knew, after he killed Sir Dontos for bringing her to Petyr’s ship, the septon was long dead when they sailed for Gulltown. Sansa remembered Petyr’s words –

_Gold buys a man’s silence for a time, a bolt in the heart buys it forever._

Even Sansa had to believe that Lord Manderly’s servants, maester, septon and small folk would not keep such a secret. The wedding of the Lady of Winterfell was too important of information no matter how much Petyr paid them.

True to his word, Petyr did not share her bed. Sansa had her own cabin guarded by a Vale knight. The sea was icy and the strong winds as they came around the Fingers, were too harsh to stay on deck for long. Petyr called her up only for a few minutes. It was cloudy and very cold but Sansa looked in the direction that he pointed. They were passing a rocky and small peninsula and Sansa realized where they were. It was his home and Sansa tried not to gasp. There was nothing there except a lone tower. How could anyone live in such a barren place?

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he drawled. “The home of my birth. Lord of sheep pellets, seaweed and rocks. I don’t have many smallfolk, mind you. Not many are required to look after my rocks. We’d stop, but dung fires aren’t particularly pleasant…”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. The more she learned about Petyr, the more she really began to understand him. Of course, Riverrun was a haven, a palace compared to this. It must have been terrible to be sent here again after Grandfather Tully cast him out. Sansa couldn’t quite imagine a deathly injured boy having to live here.

“…and it’s all yours, my lady. Marriage to me clearly has its benefits,” he smirked. “Not many women would marry knowing this is what they were inheriting.”

Sansa pulled her cloak around her. She was shivering and wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or seeing that pitiful speck of land.

Petyr pressed himself behind her, wrapping his cloak to cover them both for added warmth.

“You’re trembling,” he mused. “Perhaps we should go below deck. Nothing like hot, mulled wine to erase this vision from your mind.”

Sansa hid her smile before following him down below. Petyr had a sense of humour all his own. The mulled wine was a saving grace. Before they reached the Fingers, Sansa knew she was not seaworthy. She didn’t know if it was the cold weather or that she was never meant to be on the water. She was a wolf, after all, they weren’t meant for the sea. Petyr didn’t seem bothered by any of it. Apparently, mockingbirds could land anywhere and be at home.

The seasickness took hold for the remainder of the trip and Sansa had never been so happy to get to land. The ship docked, Petyr almost had to carry her to the waiting rickshaw. The slender man pulled the seated cart through a series of cobblestone alleyways before arriving at a great oak door. The pungent scent of the sea wafted through the small courtyard of colorful tiles and columns. Petyr led her up a few sets of stairs until they reached a balcony that overlooked the bay.

The first few nights, they would dine, talk about how to best utilize the Vale’s resources and Petyr would escort her to her chamber. He would only kiss her hand and never attempted to go any further. Sansa was grateful he kept his distance. Their relationship, for better or for worse had reverted to what it used to be before she became Ramsay’s plaything.

Nightmares still plagued her, even though she never told Jon about it. Sansa did not want him to worry, and she didn’t want to be seen as weak. She bolted her door every night and some nights, she’d awake drenched in sweat and scanning the room for her husband, she wasn’t quite sure was dead. Maybe he was ghost meant to haunt her forever. When they left Winterfell, she hadn’t screamed once in the night. She still bolted her door at Lord Manderly’s and kept as quiet as possible on the ship fearing Petyr would hear through those thin walls.

How many times did she wish those nightmares would forever leave her? Her second night in Gulltown, she woke screaming. It was one of her worst memories making her relive it in her dreams. She screamed and screamed and Ramsay only laughed. No one came to her aid. No one left who cared.

She heard a man yell her name and pound against the bolted chamber door. Sansa didn’t know where she was. The salt air, warmer climate, the silken bedclothes… this wasn’t Winterfell. The door broke open and a dark-haired man rushed to her bed calling her name.

Sansa cowered and scurried out of the bed and curled into the corner of the room. There was nowhere to escape. Ramsay kept her locked in. She struck out at the man when he tried to pull her to

him, and heard him grunt from the effort of grabbing her wrists to halt their assault.

“Sansa, stop sweetling. You’re safe, my love. Safe,” he said in exasperation.

Sansa blinked and saw Petyr’s face painted in worry. His hold was strong and he wasn’t letting go.

“Sssh, you’re safe,” he murmured, holding her to him. It was the first time he embraced her in weeks, not even since their hasty marriage did really hold her in fear that she didn’t want his touch. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

Somehow he knew. Perhaps he truly did regret selling her to Ramsay. Did those visions that haunted him, so he said, even come close to what she remembered?

Petyr pushed back damp strands of hair that matted against her forehead. He rocked her like a father would a daughter and Sansa didn’t know what to make of him. He was old enough to be her father and sometimes he treated like a daughter he never had. But when he would kiss and hold her, that was something that fathers decidedly did not do. Not good fathers. Petyr was not her father nor did he want to be. He made that clear long before he asked for her hand.

“Come,” he said, pulling her up from the floor. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” she shook but didn’t let go of him. He was wearing his silk tunic and hadn’t dressed for bed. It must have been late, for the moon was high in the black sky as he led her to another room. What was he doing up so late?

“Here, lie down,” he whispered, setting her down on a warm bed and pulled back the rumpled bedclothes.

The fire was low in the hearth but the room was warmer than hers. Petyr tucked her legs in and pulled the covers to her shoulders. Candles were burning on a desk near the fire and Sansa could see a stack of papers and an ink well with a long tapered quill. This was Petyr’s room. She was in his bed.

“Do you want some sweetsleep?” she heard him ask.

Did she? Sweetsleep would send her into dreamless slumber, but she wouldn’t remember anything until she woke. Sansa was aware of whose bed she lay in and didn’t know if Petyr would keep his word. Did she trust him to be a gentleman? He was her new husband after all.

“I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he answered her silent question. “I have much work to finish as you can see. You can stay up if you like or would you prefer another room?”

Sansa shook her head and snuggled down into the soft bed. It had his aroma all over it. Petyr had a scent all his own – woodsy with that ever-present mint.

Petyr tucked a copper strand behind her ear and smiled sadly. He retreated to his desk and resumed his writing. The scratching of the quill, the crackling of the fire was lulling her down as she watched him with a weary eye. Occasionally, he would glance her way only to return to his many letters.

The next night was the same and the night after. Sansa dressed for bed and slept as he worked at his desk. That morning she found him asleep, resting his chin on his palm. The dark circles under his eyes were telling. Petyr didn’t sleep much these days. She was taking up his bed and he let her have it without complaint. He could have slept in another room, but Sansa felt he was watching over her. She didn’t have another nightmare oddly and wondered if she just needed another person in the room with her.

The following night, Petyr was clearly exhausted. He spent the day at the harbor going over several shipments from Dragonstone. Jon had explained the White Walkers to him and even though she could tell Petyr was skeptical, he promised that his merchant connections could help.

They had dined and barely a word was spoken. He was tired and even as he gave her his bed once again, Petyr couldn’t hide that he needed sleep. He looked older than his years in that dim candlelight. Crumpling a piece of parchment and tossing it the dying embers, he stood and stretched like a cat before catching her eyes watching him.

“I’m sorry sweetling, I cannot keep my eyes open any longer,” he yawned. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me. Just call out. I’ll keep the doors open.”

He was leaving her alone? Sansa sat up and stalled. She didn’t know what to say. Stay. Don’t go. I won’t be able to sleep alone. Please stay at that desk so I can pretend everything is all right.

“Are you alright?” he asked crossing the room to sit next to her. Petyr brushed her hair back and felt her forehead.

“Don’t go,” she breathed, hating herself right now. She was being weak.

Petyr sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “I need sleep, Sansa. I can’t spend another night in that chair.”

Sansa looked at the large bed and fidgeted nervously. Would he keep his hands to himself if she asked him to sleep here or would it be an invitation that she was ready to be his wife in all ways?

“Stay – here with me,” she whispered. “But just to sleep. Nothing more.”

Surprised, Petyr eyed her cautiously. Was he worried she would murder him in his sleep? After her last husband was served up to starving hounds, he probably had a right to be nervous.

He nodded slowly, “Nothing more.”

Sansa shifted to the other side as he removed his boots but didn’t take off any more clothing. He had taken to working in his tunic for comfort. Petyr slid into bed and stayed on his side with his back to her. Several tense minutes passed as they both lay still with only the sound of soft breathing and the random crackle of the fire.

Sansa didn’t know when she fell asleep, but when she woke it was in his arms. In the night, they had shifted and she was curled into his body, wrapping her pale arm around his narrow waist. Shocked at the intimacy, she glanced up finding him still asleep. When she tried to move, his arm unconsciously held her tighter and Sansa cursed under her breath. Ever so slowly she pushed up and stared at him for a moment. The lines in his face were softened and Petyr looked peaceful. For such a mischievous and dangerous man, it was strange to observe him completely unaware. He needed a shave, she smiled slightly. His nose was straight with sharp cheekbones and sturdy jaw. Petyr wasn’t handsome like Loras, but he was far from ugly. It was his eyes that were his best feature, as unnerving as they could be. Those eyes that could see right through you and read your mind. Those grey-green eyes that were suddenly open and staring at her in fascination.

Nothing was said that morning or the following evening when crawled he into bed with her. Sansa was dying from the isolation of never leaving his house but Petyr told her he saw some of Varys’ and Cersei’s spies roaming nearby. One of his many letters, probably from his own little spies, told them Tommen and Margery were dead as were most of the titled society in Kings Landing. The High Sparrow and all his zealots were burnt alive from wildfire. Petyr wasn’t overly surprised for he knew about a cache of the volatile liquid was under the city from the days of the Mad King. Tyrion has used some of it to win the battle of Blackwater.

Now Cersei was queen and she would be just as mad and ruthless as Joffrey they suspected. Petyr couldn’t chance Sansa being seen until they left. The lords would be arriving tomorrow and the contracts would be made to bring the north and the Vale together.

News spread of Lord Frey’s murder and Sansa couldn’t have been more pleased. Apparently some servant girl did him in and both she and Petyr found that fitting. However, Riverrun and the Riverlands were still under Lannister control. With Frey dead and the Lannister’s allies dwindling, that gave them the advantage to move south and take it all. Keven Lannister was dead with no one to govern Casterly Rock. Margery, Loras and Lord Tyrell were gone leaving Olenna, the Queen of Thorns alone in High Garden.

Petyr said not to worry about Olenna yet. She was already Cersei’s enemy and now the old woman would be ripe with revenge. He didn’t seem to trust her at all. Sansa remembered she was a cunning old lady that Petyr had warned her about before.

Sansa paced his solar as it was getting late. Her nightdress flowed behind her and the fur-lined dressing gown he bought her. He said he would return before sundown, but the sun was now dipping into the Narrow Sea. What if the Vale lords, Robin refused them? Without the Vale, the north wouldn’t have the supplies and men needed to move south. Robin was a selfish and dim-witted boy at best and hoped Petyr had a good hold on him. Her cousin would not be happy to find out that she, his once intended, had married his beloved uncle.

Maybe she didn’t think this through as thoroughly as she should. Lord Royce didn’t seem to like Petyr and she still had Lysa’s death hanging over his head. She could denounce him at any time and Sansa was positive Royce would kill him on the spot. How would high lord of the Vale react to their marriage? Jon didn’t know. No one knew as far Sansa guessed. Cersei would kill them both. Sansa could see Brienne’s disappointed face if she wasn’t dead. Perhaps, by now, she had made it back to Winterfell. What would she tell Jon?

Sansa walked to Petyr’s bedchamber and stood out on the balcony. The sun had almost disappeared. Where was he? Did they know and it was a trap? Was Petyr dead? Did one of Cersei’s mercenaries get him on his way back? What would she do if he was dead? How would she get home?

Strong arms came from behind and wrapped around her waist, making Sansa yelp in surprise. Turning, she hugged Petyr in relief. He wasn’t dead after all.

“It’s done, my love,” she felt him grin against her cheek. The past few nights, sharing a bed had made her accustomed to his embrace. Most mornings she woke entwined with him in some way.

“The alliance?” she breathed.

“Yes. I told you Robin will do whatever I suggest. He wants to meet with you tomorrow and then we sail back to White Harbor. We will have all the supplies we need and the rest of the Vale army,” he chuckled lightly.

“How?”

“I told them about Walder Frey, Kings Landing and Cersei. They know as well as I, we can let her be queen,” he breathed against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “The Lannisters time is at an end. Even the Queen of Thorns has travelled to Dorne, I’m told. She is a smart old crocodile, that one. The Martells will take revenge on Cersei and Olenna will be more than happy to oblige. When the Targaryen girl arrives with both Varys and Tyrion Lannister in tow, we will have a war that will overshadow that of the five kings.”

“Tyrion is alive?” she asked, pulling away to face him.

“I’ll give the Imp credit; I didn’t expect him to murder his own father. Jaime set him free and I suspect Varys smuggled him to Meereen where the Dragon Queen has set up quite a residence I hear,” he grinned smugly.

“But if he’s still alive…”

“It was never consummated, you’re a free woman,” he frowned slightly. “Unless you still wish to be his wife.”

Was Petyr jealous? His grey-green studied her and Sansa couldn’t help but inwardly smile. Petyr really did want her… maybe he did love her.

“No,” she whispered and yet his features did seem to soften from her answer. She didn’t want to be a Lannister anymore than a Bolton. Granted, she could have settled for Tyrion. He was kind to her after all. Not one man confessed their love for her. Even Joffrey couldn’t lie convincingly. Never had any man tell her she was everything to him. That he wanted her, loved her above all things. Petyr said he would give her the throne if she wanted it.

Could this man really love her as he said? Sansa studied his face. He had many fine lines and a few deeper ones telling of his age. Her hands rested on his chest and felt his breathing change. The air was charged between them and Sansa knew she could seduce, break and even kill him if she wanted.

_Can I control him though?_

“Careful, my wife,” he whispered. “You’ll make me want to kiss you if you look at me like that.”

Sansa tested the waters and touched his cheek. His skin was very soft.

“And what if I want to be kissed?”

“I told you, if it’s within my power, I’ll give you whatever you desire,” he breathed closing the distance.

His mouth was sweet with wine. He had been drinking with the Vale lords. Petyr was gentle as he had always been with her. Sansa wondered how far she could push him before that breaking point. Winding her arms around his neck was all the encouragement he needed. Petyr deepened his kiss, teasing the seam of her lips with his tongue. It was different, even Ramsay didn’t kiss her, for which Sansa was grateful. No, she wouldn’t let that demon fill her mind. For days, she hadn’t thought or dreamed of him.

Sansa groaned a little and opened her mouth to him. The moment his tongue touched hers she felt like falling. Is this was kissing was like? Petyr’s hand cradled the back of her head as his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. She could get used to this. Sansa decided she liked kissing him. She didn’t care for his moustache so much, but she could deal with it for now. Would he shave if she asked him to?

The thought was enticing, the thought was delicious and then it made her pause for a moment. She wanted to kiss him. She was looking into the future and that intimacy would be there. Sansa didn’t know what frightened her more, that she could want Petyr – care for him or that she would allow him that part of herself. She was imagining what their future might be.

“Do you wish me to stop?” he asked the question she was wondering herself.

Sansa saw the bed from the corner of her eye and the idea made her flush scarlet. Would it hurt? She remembered Lysa’s screams but they weren’t in pain. Her aunt moaned and wailed in pleasure. At the time, Sansa was irritated because she couldn’t go to sleep with all that noise. Deep down, part of her was a bit jealous too. Petyr had lavished attention on her, saved her life and then wedded and bedded her aunt. She could still hear Lysa scream and wondered what Petyr was doing to her.

Her first night with Ramsay was shame, humiliation and pain… she thought it might stop after that but she was so wrong. Her screams were of terrible pain. It felt like he was ripping her in two. It never felt good. Her moans and cries were to make it stop. But it only spurred him on. The cuts, bite marks, bruises, there was no pleasure except what he took from her.

“Look at me,” he whispered, turning her chin to face him. “I’m not him. There’s nothing I would do to hurt you. I can wait as long as you need.”

“Is it only pleasurable for men?” her mind spoke out before she realized.

“Oh my love, it’s more than pleasurable for both men and women, I promise,” he smiled softly. “Do not think of him. His pleasure was derived from causing pain. The act itself, especially between two people that desire one another, is pure bliss. There are moments when you can be so consumed with that person, you don’t know where you end and they begin. Why do you think my brothels were so profitable? People will pay to find that ecstasy. It all depends on the right lover.”

Sansa cast her eyes down, “Hmph, a brothelkeeper would know all about that, wouldn’t he?”

Petyr tilted her chin up, “Yes,” he answered firmly. “And not all my clients were men. Women crave that pleasure just as much if not more than men. It would be a shame if you spent your whole life and never felt that bliss, Sansa. You deserve to be loved, to be pleased and pleasured…”

Sansa couldn’t meet his stare. Those eyes were filled with desire. Kissing him was lovely and she enjoyed it. Could she allow him to cross that wall she built up so high? Sansa knew what he wanted, what he was asking. Would he stop if she changed her mind?

“I promised I wouldn’t force you, and I won’t. Just tell me what you want, Sansa. I can love you, please you – if you’ll let me.”

His voice dropped an octave and it made her belly flutter. Trust was such a terrible thing once it was broken. Petyr had been true to his word since their reunion. She had felt a twinge of that desire when he kissed her, when his tongue touched hers.

“You won’t use force, even if I change my mind?” she asked finally.

“Never,” he replied serenely and claimed her lips again.

Gently, he guided her back into the room, never once breaking contact. Petyr pulled her flush against his frame, wrapping his arms around her again. Those hands explored and caressed. They flowed like water over her body and Sansa couldn’t deny it felt good. When finger ran over a breast, she gasped and he paused and waited for her permission or rejection. It didn’t hurt, but surprised her instead. He stopped just as he said he would.

Her fingers rested on his chest and she mulled over which choice to make. She could leave now, and he would let her. Finding the clasps, she began unhooking each one down the length of his doublet and felt his breath hitch. When her trembling hand touched his silk-covered chest, Petyr cupped her face and kissed her deeply taking her breath away.

She could get lost in his kisses and be satisfied with that alone. All too soon, a slow ache burrowed deep within her. It was a pleasurable ache below her tummy, something she never felt before. His lips found a place under her jaw and Sansa couldn’t stop the little moan that escaped.

His hands found the tie, securing her dressing gown and slowly loosened the knot. Her breathing was shallow when he softly cupped a breast, curious at what he would do next. His thumb made little circles until that nipple hardened and a jolt went straight between her legs. That ached intensified and the look in his eyes was her undoing. His eyes darkened and his breath became heavier. Desire coursed through his veins but he held back. He waited for her to tell him it was alright.

The dressing gown slipped from her shoulders and down her arms until pooling to the floor. Sansa was completely bare underneath her nightdress and the firelight did little to hide the silhouette of her body from his hungry view. She took a leap of faith and pushed his doublet over his shoulders. Petyr shrugged the garment off and Sansa could feel his muscles move until the thin silk. She ran her fingers across his shoulders and down his chest as her eyes followed their path. Petyr let her explore him and didn’t push her. Maybe he did understand her fears.

Of their own accord, fingers unlaced one tie, and then another until his tunic was loose. She didn’t know where to go from here. Did she tell him she was willing to try or…

Petyr made the decision for her and pulled her to him. She could feel his body between the layers of silk. His mouth traversed the expansion of her neck until meeting her collarbone. His lips were heady things and she never wanted them to leave her skin again. They found every pulse point, nerve and it kept driving that ache growing in her core. Petyr had not even touched her down there and yet it was pulsing with need. Is this what desire felt like?

Sansa didn’t know when he moved her to bed until she felt it hit the back of her knees. She didn’t know what to expect. Would he undress her? Ramsay only cared about degrading her and to have a man being so gentle was confusing. She knew what to expect from her late husband, but Petyr was making her feel such wonderful things.

When her hands found his bare skin, he hissed and kissed her lips again. That gentleness gave way to a passion she didn’t expect at all. His mouth claimed hers feverishly and Sansa almost felt faint. Her breath was his and their tongues danced sinfully. No one told her kissing could be like this. That it could inflame such lust.

A hardness pressed against her thigh and Sansa knew he was aroused. He wanted her. Petyr wanted her badly. He wouldn’t make a move unless she gave permission. It was her decision right now on what would happen next. Boldly, her hand travelled down his chest, feeling a jagged and glossy raised skin that must be the scar he spoke of. From collarbone to navel it stretched and Sansa gasped in his mouth. Uncle Brandon had practically sliced him in two. A boy no less.

Petyr didn’t flinch or push her hand away as she touched along this lifelong reminder. Other than a bit of hair on his chest and below his navel, Petyr’s skin was smooth, soft and taut. He wasn’t fat or flabby due to his age. She brushed against that hardness and felt his hips jerk. Breaking the kiss, his eyes were shut as if trying to control himself.

“Take off your boots,” she commanded softly.

Sansa didn’t know what else to say. Take me to bed. I’m ready now. It all sounded so childish. Why couldn’t she just tell him she wanted him, wanted to feel that pleasure he promised?

Petyr sat down and removed them one by one with a hint of a smirk as she stood and watched him. Tossing them aside, he reached for her hips, gently pulling her forward until she stood between his legs. There was patience and anticipation in his eyes. When she lifted the edges of her nightdress and straddled his waist, Sansa smiled at the look of shock on Petyr’s face. He didn’t expect her to be so bold.

She could feel him between her legs and it made her throb all the more. Shrugging out of his tunic, Sansa leaned down and kissed him. She held onto his bare shoulders and when his arms were free, his hands gathered the edge of her nightdress, slowly bringing it up her thighs.

Those long and graceful fingers feathered against the milky skin of her thighs. Up and up they moved until feeling around her hipbone and backside making her involuntarily buck against him. Only that last piece of clothing separated them now. If she undid his breeches, she would feel him. Sansa’s heart was pounding when she reached down and unbuttoned the last of his constraints. His head fell into her bosom but those hands continued to massage her backside, rocking her against him in the most pleasurable way.

He was hard against her, letting the wetness that gathered between her legs coat him. That never happened with Ramsay. She was dry and it hurt terribly when he entered her. Petyr’s hand freed himself and then starting playing where they would soon be joined. His fingers were slick with her juices as he circled and rubbed right where she ached. The other hand was yanking down his breeches and this time Sansa wasn’t scared about what was going to happen.

Everything was different this time. She wanted him to touch her, kiss her. She couldn’t stop the movement of her hips in time with his fingers. Petyr drew down the material and took her pert and sensitive nipple into his mouth. He suckled and flicked his tongue and that only made her burn more. Feeling his bare thighs under her hips, Sansa loved how good it felt. She liked the way he let her set the pace. He was nothing but patient but when she pressed down hard upon him, Petyr began roughly moving her hips against him. She groaned into his neck, feeling his fingers and cock slide against her.

“Tell me, is this what you want?”

The lust in his voice was deep and arousing as she moved with him. This felt good, she could be satisfied with this. Her body was chasing something else. It needed more. She had come this far with him and Sansa could feel him throbbing beneath her. He needed release as well.

“Do you want more?”

His voice was rough as his hips bucked up to let her feel what she was doing to him. Sansa stalled for half a heartbeat and then lifted her arms above her head. Petyr smiled and pulled the offending garment over her head, tossing it on the floor.

Her breasts pressed against his chest and the hair tickled a bit. His lean form fit hers perfectly, those masculine planes contrasting her soft feminine ones. Petyr was older and more mature and had self control. He didn’t just take her like she thought all men did with women in bed.

Lifting her up, Petyr turned them over until he nestled between her legs and kissed her passionately. He rocked against her letting her feel him, know how much he wanted her. She hesitated a bit when he nudged her entrance. Sansa couldn’t help it. Those memories were fierce and made her question everything.

“Do you want me?” his husky voice mumbled under her ear.

Did she? Yes, she did. Her body wanted him desperately. If she could only quiet her mind.

“Let me show you how much I want you,” he cooed, kissing down her breasts to her navel.

Petyr dipped his tongue and smiled sinfully. That tongue lit fire down her hipbone to the inside of her thigh. He threw her leg over his shoulder when those mischievous eyes flared a bit before his mouth closed over her most secret of places.

Nothing had prepared her for this. She had never heard of men doing this and it was glorious. Petyr buried his nose in her curls as he devoured her whole. His tongue flicked, his lips suckled and that tender nub pulsed with need. Her hips bucked and jerked at the sensation he was causing. So much, that he pinned her hips down with his hands and all Sansa could do was take was he was giving.

A coil was tightening and she couldn’t stop that lovely ached that kept building and building. Petyr groaned deeply into her sex and it seemed like he was enjoying this. He liked that he was pleasing her. The vibration his voice was causing only made her grind her cunt into his mouth. Something was coming, she could feel it. Sansa didn’t know where those moans were coming from until she realized it was her. She needed more of him, all of him. When that tongue worked furiously on that swollen bud, Sansa finally cried out.

Petyr hadn’t lied. It was bliss. That wave of pleasure hit and it was the only thing she wanted. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want that feeling to end. Suddenly, his mouth left her and he was guiding himself into where she was still quivering.

His eyes were black pools of desire when he thrust inside slowly. Petyr stretched her and let her adjust to him. Shallow pumps, followed by deeper thrusts as he spread her legs wider to give him more access. That wetness and what his mouth did to her had him sliding inside her with ease. It didn’t hurt at all. Petyr kissed her roughly and his mouth tasted of her. That musky sweetness had her head spinning. He liked the way she tasted, he enjoyed pleasuring her and now he was inside her and it felt wonderful.

Her hips began to thrust against him and Petyr’s eyes went wild. He wanted to know he was pleasing her and those groans erupted deep from her chest making him smile. 

“Oh, my love. I’ve waited so long for you,” he growled. “Tell me you want me.”

He was moving faster and that burning ache returned with full force. Whatever he was doing to her, she didn’t want him to stop.

“I want you,” she breathed, feeling that coil tighten once again. It wasn’t a lie; she did want him. She wanted him badly.

Petyr hiked her leg up over the crook of his arm, which allowed him to go deeper and grind against that swollen bud that was throbbing endlessly. It was erotic and Sansa understood now what all the whispers and girlish chatter were about this dance between a man and a woman.

If a woman was terribly unlucky, her husband was incompetent or worse like Ramsay or Joffrey in the marital bed. Sansa understood why her mother had so many children. Childbirth wasn’t easy and often deadly. Her mother must have liked this to get with child so many times.

Now here Sansa was the daughter, letting a man who duelled for her mother and twice her years fuck her with passion. She was crying out now, begging him not to stop. His voice was growling her name and panting from the effort. Then it hit, wave after wave making her body rigid. Sansa couldn’t breathe as she felt him follow her into oblivion. He tensed with a few more thrusts and collapsed, his head resting on her bosom. They were both slick with perspiration and could barely catch their breaths.

Petyr rolled off her and pulled her into his side. There was a chill in the room now and Sansa yanked up the linens to cover them. She could feel his seed inside her and between her legs. The idea of carrying his child was still a foreign one, but not completely unwelcome. If he loved her, then he would love whatever child she gave him. One thing Sansa did know – Petyr would fiercely protect that child with his life.

Holding her to him, she could tell Petyr was falling asleep. His breathing was even and deep as she watched the rise and fall of his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” his exhausted voice asked as he caressed her back.

“No,” Sansa spoke truthfully. Even if he did, she wouldn’t tell him. For some reason, she couldn’t hurt him like that. Because deep down, Sansa knew he would be mortified at the thought of it.

“I do love you, even if you don’t trust me,” he whispered.

Sansa matched his caresses on his chest, playing with a tuft of hair there.

“I know.”

Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t finished. There was no name for what this was. Could she love him one day? Sansa didn’t know how to answer that question. It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. Considering all things, both of them were likely to die by the game or the dead that threatened kill them all.


End file.
